Dumb Incestuous Redneck Fags
by Cherry Champagne
Summary: McCormickcest drabbles. Prompted by...me being a sicko. Come be a sicko with me please.
1. Joking Around

Warning: It's incest! It's horrible, blasphemous, unnatural, illegal, gay, sexual, incest! Oh Lordy! I'ma burn in hell! Don't taint your eyes with the disgusting filth my accursed hands so shamelessly produce! However, if you've accepted your future in hell, take a seat. Have a scone. Enjoy the decadence.

A/N: I couldn't sleep because too many weird little McCormickcest drabbles kept popping into my head. :C

--

Kevin gave a pleasured sigh in the darkness. He lifted his hand, gripping a wadded tissue, from beneath the blankets, and tossed it vaguely in the direction of the trash bin in the corner, missing by a foot or two.

"You know," Kenny stated, rolling onto his side to face his brother. "It's really, really disgusting that you do that with me in the same bed."

"I can't sleep without jackin' it." Kevin stated cheerfully.

"Gross. Do it in the bathroom or something!"

"After I'm done, I get really tired."

"Too tired to walk the eight feet back to our room?"

"Yes."

Kenny moaned in frustration. It was bad enough he had to deal with a knee up his butt all night; he didn't need to have his brother's shoulder bump him rhythmically as he beat his meat. They were already overflowing on the twin mattress; however, their parents, the good Christians they were, refused to allow either boy to share a bed with their compact, prepubescent sister.

Kevin bit his lip thoughtfully. "You know, it'd be easier if you just did it for me."

A silence occupied the dark bedroom.

He let out a forced laugh. After a moment, Kenny joined in.

"Yeah, I'd totally love to jack off my brother. That's my dream."

Another brief silence; another set of false laughter.

The noise ended abruptly; they stared, focused, into one another's face, attempting to read the other expression while hiding their own. They lay in this position uninterrupted for nearly a minute.

"…'Night."

"'Night."

A/N: Yeah…inspired by real life events. I really need to learn a way to deal with come-ons other than pretending I think they're joking. It's getting a little pathetic.


	2. Staying Close

He comes every pay day.

I'm standing in my usual place, in my usual uniform, when he drives past.

I stroll up to the window, unable to keep from smiling (even though I'd have to anyway,) and greet him with something along the lines of the traditional, "Hey, sailor."

He directs me to get in the car.

We drive to a nice motel. Inside, he orders his usual; the normality of it makes it unique among my customers. I blow him, he thrusts up my ass a few times, and deposits a puddle of cum into the small of my back.

He leaves a small fortune on the dresser. The room is paid for the night; I have a place to stay.

I once informed him that, for the price he paid, he could have been blown, laid, peed on, and fisted. He politely refused.

He locates his shoes and opens the door. Before closing it, he says the same thing as he's said every other night;

"Stay save, li'l bro."


	3. Growing Up

Kenny sighed and sunk back in the tub, until everything but his face was submerged

Kenny sighed and sunk back in the tub, until everything but his face was submerged. Wasn't bath time supposed to be something sacred; a private, calm, relaxing part of your hygiene regimen that gave you time to sit back and reflect on life?

Instead, he had a foot in his nads.

"Please get your foot out of my nads." Kenny asked calmly.

"Where am I supposed to put it?"

"The living room, maybe."

Kevin gave a sarcastic laugh. "You're so funny." He said in deadpan, reaching for the bottle of dollar store shampoo.

"I'm serious. Don't you think we're old enough to take separate baths? I mean, you're seventeen already…"

"Hmmm." Kevin massaged the lather into his scalp slowly in mock contemplation. "No."

"Why? Do you really love prodding my junk that much?"

"For one, yes. Two, if we took separate baths, I couldn't do this." He gave a small grunt; bubbles broke the surface of the water between his legs.

"Aw, weak!"

Laughing, he forced both palms on the back of his brothers head and jforced him underwater. Though much kicking and twisting ensued, Kevin was clearly the stronger of the brothers; he gave barely any effort in depriving his brother of oxygen, having enough excess energy to shout such charming colloquialisms as "TASTE THE FART, KENNY!"

Kenny stopped struggling after a moment. Perplexed, Kevin released his hold; the blonde did not resurface. The top half of his naked form hung suspended in the soapy water.

Kevin looked around the room for witnesses. Satisfied that he was not being watched, he stepped out of the tub, unplugged the drain, located a towel, and backed slowly from the room, shutting of the lights and closing the door behind him.


	4. Fighting Prejudice

"YOU DUMB INCESTUOUS REDNECK FAGS ARE GOING TO BURN IN HELL!"

The call came from across the gas station. The caller, after bravely standing up for his Christian beliefs, promptly turned tail and ran.

Kevin snorted. "God, I hate that. People assuming that just because we're poor, and we got a couple trucks on our lawn, and we're dumb, we all fuck our cousins."

Kenny accepted his change from the shell-shocked employee and slid the pack of cigarettes from the counter. "Kevin?"

"Yeah?"

"That'd be more convincing if you didn't have your hand in my back pocket."

"Oh, whoops."


	5. Dressing Up

"Aw, balls!"

Kenny threw down his controller as his brother laughed.

"Dude, you gotta do it. You lost the bet." He said through giggles, setting aside the bulky controller to stand with mild difficulty from the sagging couch.

"I didn't think we were serious about that whole thing—"

"You already found the snotty tissues for me to eat."

Kenny's mouth formed a thin line, thinking of a new excuse. None came to mind. "Alright, you donut puncher…it's a weird bet anyway…freak…" He muttered incoherently all the way up the stairs and to his parents' room, Kevin giggling in tow.

Behind the crooked-hanging sliding doors of their mother's closet, there were exactly three articles of clothing hanging on the pole; a cheap faux-fur trimmed jacket, a leopard print skirt, and a short, pink sundress.

Kenny continued to grumble as he stripped off his parka and jeans and slid the dress on over his head. He adjusted it to hang correctly, let his arms fall to his side, and gave Kevin the most murderous look he could manage.

Kevin did not seem to be reacting in the expected manner. Rather than jeering, he stared in slight awe, blue irises cradled on all sides by white. "Hey, you actually look pretty good in that."

"Fuck you!"

"No, I'm serious. You look, like, pretty, man. Look in the mirror."

Kenny gave him a cynically nonplussed look and turned to look in the mirror hanging from the interior of the bedroom door.

He noticed his bony shoulders, the blemishes on his legs no longer covered by his equally torn jeans, the feet that had hit a growth spurt before he had. It was a trashy dress, made further trashy by its contents.

"Really?"

"Yeah. C'mon, let's go play another round."

Kenny gave himself another look in the mirror. "Yeah…" He started to follow his brother out of the room.

Kevin stopped and turned to face him. "You can take it off now."

"…I know."

Kevin looked his younger brother up and down; he looked confused and skeptical. However, the expression broke, to be replaced by his typical dimwitted cheerfulness. "Okay."

By sitting with his legs spread, Kenny beat Kevin four times in a row.


	6. Sharing

On Thursday night, Karen McCormick somehow found herself inebriated in North Park with no ride home. She happened to find a man with a car and dry balls who was willing to make a trade.

Friday morning, Karen lay splayed over the broken-down McCormick couch, watching the free channels on the shitty old TV and taking an occasional slug from a bottle of Sunkist.

Kenny McCormick entered the living room, gave Karen a noogie, and stole her beverage.

Friday afternoon, Kenny and Kevin McCormick wandered boredly to the Movie Theater. They bought tickets to a movie neither of them knew anything about, and fifteen minutes after the previews ended, got bored.

Friday evening, Kenny attempted to help Kevin with his math homework, and got distracted.

Saturday morning, the three McCormick children stood in front of their parents at the breakfast table and attempted to explain how they had contacted four cases of herpes between the three of them within twenty-four hours.

A/N: Karen oral, Kenny oral and anal, Kevin genital. Good stuff.


	7. Staying In

Kenny lifted his chin to stare vaguely in the direction of the knocking at the door. He made no effort to stand, being increasingly more comfortable as his weight pushed him deeper and deeper into the mire of the couch cushions, and instead chose to answer in a less traditional manner.

"COME IN!" He shrieked.

He went back to watching TV.

The knocker knocked again.

"Kenny, will you get that? It's for me." Kevin shouted from the bathroom.

"Assbag." Kenny grunted, before rocking to his feet, upsetting a glass of water as he did, and shuffling to the door.

The knocker was a girl. A decidedly…dressy girl. He stared at her bare cleavage for a moment before asking, "Who're you?"

"I'm Gina. Are you Kevin's brother?"

He looked at the hem of her skirt. "Yyyeah."

"Is he here?"

Tonight was Prom, wasn't it? He bit his bottom lip as he made room for her to walk inside. Once the door was shut, she stood awkwardly as Kenny looked her up and down shamelessly.

"TELL HER I'LL BE OUT IN A MINUTE!" Kevin's voice screamed from the bathroom.

"He'll be out in a minute."

"Yeah, I heard."

He stared at her while she stared at the unimpressive interior of the house.

"Are you guys going to Prom?" He asked in deadpan.

:She tore her eyes from the water stains on the ceiling. "Yes."

"Why would you want to go with Kevin?"

She smiled in a stressed manner. "I—I like Kevin."

"Why? He's stupid and an asshole."

"Well, you probably just think that because you're his little brother—"

"No, it said that on his report card. Student is a stupid asshole."

"Oh."

The silence stretched.

"Well, he's awfully gentlemanly."

"Gentlemanly? Kevin? Have you had a recent head injury?"

"No, I mean, he's not like other boys. He's not so pushy, and sex-obsessed, and he keeps his eyes in the right places."

Kevin was obviously very focused on getting laid very fast.

Probably tonight.

A sense of doom swept over Kenny.

He had to do something.

"Kevin and I fuck each other up the butt when we're horny."

The girl goggled at him, and he did his best not to blink.

Slowly, she backed toward the door, opened it, and disappeared into the night.

Kenny smiled, pleased with himself, and fell back onto the sagging couch cushions to enjoy his smutty prime time.

Kevin finally came out of the bathroom, looking incredibly stiff and out of place in an overstarched, rented tux.

"Sorry for the—where'd she go?"

"She said she didn't want to hang out with a trashy hick like you."

"Oh." He pondered it for a moment, standing behind the couch and staring at the TV. He then started to undo his fly. "Kenny, I'm gonna need a favor."

Kenny grinned. "Any time!"

A/N: Can a bitch get a review? I mean, _one freakin' review_. A smiley face would satisfy me at this point.


	8. Squeezing In

The McCormick truck, much like any, seated three people, to be generous. The McCormick family consisted of five people.

When the children were smaller, the seating arrangement went Stuart behind the wheel, Carol beside him, with Karen on her lap, then Kevin and Kenny squeezed into the passenger seat. However, after a particularly bloody incident in which too much pressure on the passenger door caused the weak latch to release, Kenny refused to get back in the car until the positioning of the family was rethought.

Despite much sarcastic argument, Stuart's vaguely creepy jealousy ruled out Carol sitting on either of her son's laps. He also refused to give up "The man's" position of driver.

The final solution; Stuart driving, Carol and Karen in their usual position, and Kenny on Kevin's lap.

Which is how Kevin McCormick was outed to his brother.

--

A/N: Teehee. Cx It's disturbing how many of my own childhood experiences I put into these…except in a less sexual way. I mean, who didn't share beds, baths, seats, and STDs with their siblings?

Anybody got any idea bunnies for me? Credits and everything.


	9. Playing Around

A/N: Milkweedhawthorne, I love you

A/N: Milkweedhawthorne, I love you. The only person to respond to my request for idea bunnies, she gave me a real gem, "Hide and Go Seek". This popped into my head instantly. About a month later, it seems like less of a good idea. Whuteva. Ah do what ah want.

--

"Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, ninety, ninety-one…"

Kenny sighed from his position beneath the coats. He typically forced his brother to count to a high number (such as one hundred,) foreseeing his habit of skipping numbers in tens. However, the difficulty was that Kevin seemed to know less and less numbers the higher he counted. He listed off his sixtieth number, marking it by shouting one-hundred, and then projected through the thin walls and open doors, "READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!"

Kenny resettled himself at the bottom of the closet, from a lax seated position to a more spring-loaded squat. He listened hard for Kevin's footsteps; the sounds of the hem of his jeans sliding across the dirty carpet, furniture creaking as he leaned over to stare behind and around, moving from the bedroom, to the living room, and louder as he approached the foyer…

Kenny lifted his butt higher; watching his brother spin around through the narrow crack between the door and the frame, searching for obvious places—admittedly, the closet wasn't the most creative spot, but it was easily escapable—the number one attribute of a good hiding place for McCormick Hide and Go Seek.

Kevin stooped to peer underneath the small table placed by the door for depositing keys and the like, his full back visible. Kenny took the opportunity—recklessly, unconcerned by the racket he made, he burst through the door, racing toward the hall that led to base.

Through his peripherals, he saw the red blur of his brother shooting forward to meet him.

His head and torso pushed far ahead his legs as he stumbled around the corner. He felt Kevin's fingers rake the back of his loose-fitting T-shirt as he took a hard curve into the bedroom, the bed feet away—

Giving a sudden leap, Kevin tackled his brother to the floor. Kenny's outstretched arm fell less than a foot from the edge of the mattress.

Kevin, pinning Kenny's head face-down into the carpet with one hand, proceeded to use the other to tug his jeans and boxers down past his butt, quickly performed the same motion on himself, and thrust suddenly forward into his brother's bare orifice. Kenny bucked under him, desperately reaching for freedom. However, after a few gyrations, Kenny ceased struggling, and took instead to biting the back of his hand, his eyes squeezed tight as he accepted his punishment.

Within minutes, it was over. Kevin sprung with strange energy to his feet, zipping his fly, as Kenny rolled to support himself on his elbows, staring ill naturedly up at the form slightly silhouetted by the weak fluorescent lighting.

Kevin placed his hands on his hips, smiling victoriously, and insisted, "You're it!"


	10. Borrowing

Coming back to life isn't a very pleasant experience. You know when your foot goes to sleep, and you kinda gotta shake it around some to get the blood flowing, and it just feels weird and detached and kind of painful? Imagine that all over your body. Meanwhile, imagine waking up without any sort of residual grogginess—just sort of popping into consciousness, not really sure what time it is or where you are. It's a bit unsettling.

Now, imagine that, combined with suddenly realizing that there appears to be something up your butt.

And you get my Thursday night.

"What the fucking ass balls?" I snapped.

Whoever the hell thought it was acceptable to sodomize a guy's dead body without permission was obviously pretty shocked to hear his sex doll protesting, and quickly backed away, making a cartoonish "yeeeeeh" sound.

I turned around. Guess the fuck who.

"What the hell d'you think you're doin'?" I asked, pulling up my boxers, which were hanging around my knees.

Kevin was overcoming the shock pretty quickly. S'not like this isn't a weekly occurance. He still pressed against the wall, though; most likely out of fear of what I was intending to do. "Well s'not like you were using it!"

"Y'don't just go doin' stuff like that! That's like…that's like wiping your butt with somebody's shirt cuz they're not wearing it! I mean, what the fuck, you gonna fuck a dog next cuz the owner wasn't using it?" I gesticulate wildly. "It's just impolite!"

"If I'd've finished sooner you'd've never known!"

"I might've noticed my poop chute was a little sore."

He's struck dumb, as dumb people often are. "Okay, _sorry_, geez."

I sniff snootily. "Well, just ask next time. _Can't a guy die in peace without havin' nothing shoved inside him 'round here_…"

"I said I'm _sorry_ already, ya drama queen."

A/N: SUDDENLY, SOUTHERN ACCENTS! MILLIONS OF THEM!


	11. Releasing

A/N: Idea bunnies still appreciates. Hokay. And by McCormickcest, I mean Kevin and Kenny. Sorry, incest is fun, flipper babies aren't.

The Knife – Heart Beats

--

For a family as dysfunctional as us, we sure do like reunions. Christmas, the three of us tow our families back to South Park for a weekend of fighting and drinking, Thanksgiving, everyone goes from being a person to being a cousin, an uncle, a grandparent, an aunt, and an alcoholic. Then the summer reunion; more fighting, more drinking, more sleeping on floors and couches, more trash gathering in the dump.

Kevin's pup and mine tangle on the couch, fall off, and continue wrestling as if nothing happened. We sit at the dining room table, empty and extended with the leaf, gulping warm beer, rooting on our own. Kevin's girl was bigger, and fought dirty.

I went North, and Kev went South. The only time we see each other anymore is during these reunions. It always happens; at some point, the wives cluster in the kitchen, or back yard, the kids are keeping each other busy, dad's trying to arm wrestle Karen's babydaddy, no one's looking, and we're just drunk enough.

The bathroom's cold, but he's hot—he's burning, a walking fever, and so am I—our skin touching ignites, and linoleum melts. A few minutes of pushing, and then release. We fall into each other, catching our breath, as Benny starts slamming his fist against the door, screaming, "HURRY UP, I GAWDDA PEE."


	12. Helping Out

There was a certain misfortune in being born a McCormick; forced celibacy. Being underweight, poorly dressed, dim, overly eager with the fairer sex, and with a special brand of scent didn't send girls clamoring into their pants. However, shamelessness offered a semi-decent channel for sexual frustration. Kenny and Kevin shrugged, closed their eyes, and pulled down their pants.

Kevin happened to be the one concentrating as hard as he could on dogs as Kenny did some cathartic thrusting. He was pulled from his thoughts as his little brother ventured deeper; painfully so.

He turned back to be better heard complaining when he noticed Kenny's eyes were wide open…_looking at him_.

"Dude," He said, grimacing, "…gay."


	13. Taking It

Karen was on the foggy horizon between dreaming and awake, finding herself dreaming lucidly beneath her veil of consciousness, when she was startled to full alertness by the door being slammed open, as if someone was falling through it—which, she soon discovered, someone was.

Being eleven, Karen had the bad habit of sleeping more soundly in her parents' bed than her own, believing in the ostracized, lingering little-kid bits of her mind that "the monsters", be they metaphorical or literal, couldn't get her when under the protection of her mother's smell on the sheets—rank though that may be. Now, laying in a ball half beneath the mattress, she listened nervously, knowing she would be punished for being in the wrong place if she called attention to herself to leave or interrupt the two.

They were her brothers.

The aging bed springs moaned as the pair hit it, hard, as if falling, once again—the noise of a mouth unaware of sound and only of feel, and one person grumbling, growing louder—a bottle rolled over the side of the mattress and landed in her stomach, winding her slightly. Neither of the boys noticed.

She concentrated, trying to isolate the sound of her oldest brother, and made out his thick mumbles. "Y'cocksucker, get the fuck off me…don'! Fuckin'…if I weren' so…ged off, ah said! Aw God I'm drung…" He maoned painfully. "I'm gon'…I'm gon' tell someboder. Dee."

Kenny gave a pleasured sigh. "That's what you always say."

"I mean it! Ged…" He whimpered; the springs moaned as he thrashed in some manner, although weakly. "Y'fag…Dad'd…he'd whip your ass _raw_. Y'gay—ged yer hands off me!"

Karen shuddered as she heard the sound of a zipper coming undone—sliding fabric, a laugh, Kevin grunting in effort to gather his coordination and fight back. Kenny shifted on the mattress, paused-the only sound was Kevin's breathing, slow and rhythmic with sleep.

Kenny laughed again. After some degree of adjustment, she heard her brother grunt; the mattress began to squeak and shake.

She fought back the urge to panic as she listened to her brother rape her other brother; that this was somehow something that happened often? Karen could see how—Kevin got drunk beyond the ability to fully control his mind and body once a week or so, it would be easy for Kenny to overpower him in his state of weakness…

Kenny gave a yelp, and soon, the squeaking stopped. Silhouetted in the light from the hall, she saw the ankles below the edge of the bed; Kenny leaned over, did something to the sleeping mass, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

A/N: These are getting really hard to title. And this is old. REALLY old. OLLLLD.


	14. Proving A Point

"Y'know, you're a fag."

Kenny did a quarter-turn away from the open fridge, toward the kitchen table, where his older brother sat, his chin cradled in his palms.

"Why?" The deadpan in Kevin's voice was what brought on Kenny's honestly interrogative reply; he wasn't directly insulting him, though it was probably a bonus—he was stating what he considered to be a fact.

"Straight people don't wear shorts like those."

Like those? Kenny untwisted his spine to stare openly down at his shorts, arms out; they didn't seem to particularly conjure any adjective or idea to Kenny—plain, J-Mart khakis, a requirement for the weather (July was barreling through like a bottle rocket.)

"What's wrong with my shorts?"

"_Straight_ shorts," Kevin's head bobbed slightly as his chin pushed against his hands, "don't come above the knee, and they're not…_tight_."

Brow furrowed, Kenny once again inspected the apparently offending article. "Well it's not like I bought 'em like this," he grunted, pulling a bottle of generic juice from the interior of the fridge and shutting the door with a bit of force, "I just outgrew 'em."

"I still say you're a fag."

"Oh, and like you ain't?"

"Like _how_?"

"You wrestle!" Kenny threw his arms up slightly before slamming the bottle down on the dirty counter. A small chip of the drywall fell from the adjacent wall.

"How is wrestling gay!? Wrestling's, like, the manliest sport ever."

"I'll say."

"Wrestling's beating the shit out of another guy. That's not gay!" Kevin was now sitting up straight, his jaw slightly slack in a gruffer version of the pout.

"Wrestling's holding men in various ways, often involving jamming their face in yer nutsack, while wearing tights. Then you all slap each other on the ass and take a shower." He screwed the cap back on the juice and moved back to the fridge, smug now that he was on the offense.

"Ass-slapping's football."

"Oh, sorry, you're right then, just the whole tights and nutsacks thing isn't gay at all."

In a flash, Kenny's glass was on the other side of the kitchen, the splintered linoleum splattered with sticky amber liquid. Kevin was on top of Kenny, holding him to the floor with a practiced grip—Kenny's face was contorted slightly with a grimace, his joints aching from the sudden plunge to the hard floor, while Kevin grinned sadistically, showing his missing tooth.

"So? Still think wrestling's gay?" He laughed, pushing Kenny harder into the floor to highlight his point.

Through the vague pain, Kenny sighed, and with the tone of trying to teach a stubbornly ignorant toddler a simple fact, grunted, "I have a face-full of nutsack. _Yes, it's still gay_."

It was at that point Karen wandered sleepily into the room, surveyed her oldest brother holding her older brother to the floor with junk pressed into his face, both sticky with juice and with Kenny's shorts ridden up a bit farther than she ever needed to see, turned on her bare heel, and marched back out of the room, deciding it was really too early to be awake anyway, being one PM and all.


	15. Rebelling

AN: Blink is a good band for this pairing. Everyone sick of these yet? Cuz I ain't stoppin'. Number one, it's FUUUUN and stress-free. Number two, it's nice for my little orphan craps to have a place to go, aside from rotting in some desolate folder. So…yeah. I'M FEELIN' THIS!. –scissor kicks-

--

Kenny looked up from his book briefly as Kevin walked through the doorless entryway into the room. Disinterested, he turned his eyes back, an annoyed glare set on his face.

Kevin wordlessly slid onto the bed, forcing Kenny to scoot closer to the edge to leave him room, and sat, his knees up, his arms folded over his stomach. The only thing suspicious about the situation was that it was mid-day, and Kevin had no particular reason to be in bed, especially while Kenny was already there—aside from the obvious.

The obvious occurred pretty quickly—Kenny groaned as Kevin turned to him, one hand snaking between his waist and the mattress to slip under his shirt and the other clapping firm to his groin.

"Kevin, I'm busy."

He replied in a bear-like growl, thrusting closer—two little spoons in a tiny drawer.

"Kevin…"

His hand was working its way between the waistband of his jeans and to the bare skin below—hand-me-downs that were handed down too soon, leaving him plenty of leeway. The moment his calloused hand reached its goal, his face melted into pure euphoria—eyes crossed slightly and turned up to Heaven, mouth open, drooling a little.

Kenny wasn't having it—he wasn't in the mood.

"Kevin, you know the age of consent in Colorado? S'seventeen."

"So?"

"So I'm _thirteen_. And you're _seventeen_. Get your hands out of my pants, I'm trying to talk to you—fine, whatever—so, y'know, if we get caught doin' this kind of stuff, you're going to jail. And they're tougher on same-sex junk, and probably incest, too."

Kevin seemed only slightly off-put by this revelation—his hand was still shoved down his brother's pants, without any sign of removal. "We won't get caught—who'd turn us in, anyway?"

"Dad, for one. Can you imagine how pissed he'd be? Mom might, I guess it depends—Jesus your hands are effing _ice_. Plus, we know how much you like the public stuff—"

"The danger makes it sexy."

"Well, now you have a new danger to sex you up."

Kevin considered this, a little bit of drool sitting on his lip, before muttering, "Cool."

Kenny sighed. He tried to lift his book back up, before Kevin, once again, interrupted;

"Will you go down on me?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"Leave me alone!"

"You're the worst brother ever!"

--

AN: Haha too much author's note. I just recently noticed the age difference between these two pidlins, and am severely creeped out by it. Oh well.


	16. Going Home

The town was orange and glowing, like a mini sun in itself, if not for the spidery shadows gouging long paths through the light, pooling behind houses and trees and other extremities. The sunset was almost never at an angle like this—hitting South Park dead on, rather than over a mountain—and at six in the evening, the snow began to turn soft and grey.

Kevin was singing. It wasn't an unpleasant sound—confidence was the key to making your voice bearable, and with the strong foundation their blood had apparently given them—one of the only things it had—Kevin had enough confidence to belt out The Thunder Rolls pretty well. With the steady rhythm of the grocery cart wheels rapping against the cracked, porous sidewalk, it was almost pretty fitting of the environment.

"We're gonna be late for dinner if you don't hurry up." Kenny informed him, not managing to puncture Kevin's song.

"…Then Mom'll get mad…"

He didn't like putting his fate in the hands of his incredibly unreliable brother, even if that be on getting to dinner on time. Not that he had much of a choice—his current state of limblessness sort of quelled any hope he had of maneuvering his way back to the house on his own.

Kevin stopped suddenly, mid-word, his expression hidden from Kenny, who was nestled behind him. The soft orange light created highlights in his dirty brown hair.

He turned suddenly, looking pleased, and started to climb his way into the cart over the handlebar.

"If we miss dinner because of you…"

Kevin's mouth crashed against his, broke apart, and connected again, his swollen lower lip pushing against Kenny's like a pillow fight.

"It's probably almost seven—"

His hands raked up his shirt, up his ribs, then back down to the small of his back to hold him tight against himself as he worked on a hickey just below his jawline.

"And if anybody sees—"

The cart suddenly pitched back, rolling slightly, then forward. Kevin bucked slightly in unison, eyes wide, then went back to his task—slipping his tongue in past Kenny's teeth.

The cart released its shaky grip on the pavement entirely. They slipped forward, then rolled forward, then were speeding forward—down hill—both having forgotten their individual worries to focus more on impending injury.

After about thirty feet, the cart slipped off the sidewalk, bouncing, and collided nose-to-nose with a parked car. The impact sent Kevin tumbling over the hood to land semi-unharmed near the tailpipe, while Kenny, further away from the fulcrum of the crash, and with diminished mass due to his loss of all extremities, was sent through the air into the street. There was a loud crack as his head hit the pavement, and he lay in the street, his chin flopped over onto his shoulder.

Kevin perked to attention, grumbled at the sight of his brother's massacred corpse, and set about loading it into the dented cart before the owner of the car discovered them. He hummed as he worked, however, and all the way back home through the orange town.

He was kind of used to it.

--

AN: Amputuees? More like Mmm, Cuties! –stabbed- Sorry this one sucks. I just feel like updating.


	17. Falling Down

Kenny hit the ground with a loud crack. A second later, his skateboard hit—more of a clatter, hitting on the nose then tumbling down on its back, wheels up.

He paused for a moment, making sure he wouldn't just pass out the moment he stood up, and warily shifted his way to his knees. More important than pitying himself was getting out of the way of the other skaters who might be trying to use the quarter pipe he had just plummeted straight down from.

He glared as Kevin rolled casually toward him, hands in the front pocket of his oversized hoodie. He put his bare foot down—his only shoes had been constantly threatening to completely disassemble themselves at any moment, which made wearing them much more dangerous than being barefoot—and stepped off, watching his younger brother wipe blood from his chin while on his hands and knees on the concrete.

"Man, I heard that one from all the way over there."

"Fuck off, Kevin." He hadn't really done anything wrong—Kenny just needed to direct his anger somewhere.

Kevin fell to a squat, his knees up near his chest, and, pouting, observed the damage. The blonde McCormick had landed chin-first in the way only he could, probably shaking his teeth pretty effectively, then hit with the rest of his body in a knees, chest, stomach order. Pretty funny.

"Aww, do you want me to kiss it?"

He took Kenny's grumpy silence as a yes. The two other occupants of the park watched uncomfortably as the older boy leaned in, kissed the smaller boy on the bottom of his chin, and pulled back, wiping the blood from his lips. Kenny averted his eyes, but looked slightly cheerier—Kevin smiled brightly and went back, kissing his brother first beneath his mouth, then on his lips, the tip of his nose, and his forehead.

"Feel better?"

Kenny nodded.

Kevin stood back up, his bare feet making soft slapping noises, and remounted his skateboard to coast back to the other side of the small park. Still pouting, and still bleeding, Kenny stood up as well. He took a moment to flip off the kids who had watched them in disgusted fascination before picking up his skateboard and moving back to the quarter pipe to try again.


	18. Teaming Up

AN: SHELTIEEEE! SHELSHELSHELSHEL! SHOUT OUT FUCK YEAH I LOVE YOU! AND HI EDA! EDAEDAEDA! Okay done. Thanks lesbians3

--

"Keeeviiin…"

Kevin groaned in his sleep, rolled over slightly, and lifted his arm from his eyes to peer out from under its shade at the wedge of light spilling into his bedroom from the door. The lanky shape on his younger brother stood in it, awkward and slightly nervous.

"What?" He breathed.

"Can I sleep in here?"

"…Yeah, kay, climb in this side." He began scooting over when his wife jammed her elbow into his ribs.

"Kevin!"

"What?"

Kenny began to rock on the balls of his feet.

"We talked about this! Kenny, no, go back to your own bed."

"But it's so fucking cold in there! That window leaks!"

"Then sleep on the couch!"

He was quiet for a moment, before whining, "Kevinnnn!"

"Hon, come on, just one more night—"

"This is not normal! It's not normal for a fourteen year old boy to live with his brother and his _new_ wife, and it's definitely not normal for them all to sleep in the same bed!"

Kenny gave a whining noise of protest.

"I couldn't leave him back there!"

"No, you know, I'm fine with him living here. Kenny, I LOVE you here. Just _let me sleep with my husband_."

"But…but…" His words got thick as snot started to clog in his throat, coming up to join the tears welling in his eyes.

She let out a whoosh of air, threw the comforter back, and climbed out of the bed to stomp past Kenny and out the door, heading for the living room. "Fine! Take the bed! You're both freaks!"

Kenny watched her leave guiltily for a moment, but after the proper amount of worried hesitation, he crawled into the pre-warmed groove in the bed, snuggling almost painfully comfortably under the blanket and up against his brother's shoulder.

"We're not freaks, are we?"

"…Naw, she's the freak."

They both nodded, satisfied that their cuddling wasn't at all freakish (or gay,) and went back to sleep.


	19. Making Accusations

Kenny leaned back on the desk, scooting aside a short stack of binders with his ass. He rolled his neck back, surveying the colorful posters around the room, featuring such icons as Garfield and Tigger.

"This is a really, really bad idea."

Kevin snorted. He knelt on his knees in the opposite corner of the room, piling thin paperbacks onto a knee-high shelf. "How can I screw up teaching first grade? Keep them from eating their boogers and A is for Apple and blah blah blah."

"You went to four years of college for that?"

"Community college."

"Mm. That's not what I meant, anyway."

The older McCormick looked off in his musty sweater-vest and khakis and clean face. Teacher dress code.

"Why do you have to always doubt me?"

"Because I have the ability to see patterns. Animals do that, too. No, really, do you think it's a good idea for you to teach, y'know, little kids? Being a pedophile and all?"

Kevin slammed down a paperback. It didn't make a lot of noise, but it proved his exasperation, at any rate. "For the last fucking time, I. AM. NOT. A. PEDOPHILE."

"Hey, you stopped molesting me once I hit puberty."

"Okay, like, lots of things. One, I did not molest you, you were a slutty seven year old. Number two, you got really ugly when you hit puberty—"

"Are you sure you didn't just stop being attracted to me because I got hair on my balls?"

"—number three, that was forever ago. Let it go, man."

"You molesting me?"

"Yeah."

Kenny picked up the binder and began to shake it back and forth on his lap. "This isn't about me, this is about the hoards of first graders you're gonna end up raping."

"I'm not gonna rape my students! What the fuck are you even doing here? You could get me fired on my first day. Or get thrown out or something."

"Hey, I'm on a job here! Saving the anal virginity of seven year olds! I mean, just because I'd learned to completely repress my gag reflex when I was six doesn't mean all kids should. I happened to turn out great, but I was lucky. Having your nasty cock shoved inside your tiny little butt is pretty traumatic, trust me."

The principal stood in the doorway, bright red and stiff. He cleared his throat.

Kevin and Kenny stared up at him, frozen.

In a sudden burst, Kenny's arm flew toward his brother, an accusing finger extended, and screamed, "SIR, ARREST THIS MAN!"

The principal may have accepted the comments as a joke and let Kevin go on with his new job, but throwing a teenager through the safety glass window on the first day was definitely the straw that broke the camel's back

--

AN: Is that last line confusing?


	20. Keeping Sane

If you look, a lot of things that aren't one-hundred percent—I guess I mean, like, phobias and mental illnesses and things—are defined by whether or not they disrupt your life. That's why it's okay. It doesn't disrupt your life. So as long as I can still get up, go to school, feed and wash myself—survive without people asking me too many questions, I guess—that makes what we do okay.

Love,. that disrupts your life. That's the wrong one. Hell, ruins lives. So while other people walk around, insane, they judge us for making perfect sense.

I think because it's so easy.

No more traveling than down the hall.

So when he leans to lick the cocaine from my nose, it's because he wants it, not because he wants me. When he puts his legs up and tilts his chin back, that's when I know he wants me. There are no games. No pressure. No emotion. Bodies being passageways to pleasure, not minds.

Fuck when you fuck, work when you work.

I wish my mind were more organized.

"No" is never heartbreak, "yes" is never more than permission.

Love is not the meaning of life.

I like it this way.

I don't need my life to be disrupted.

We're right.

I'm right.

--

AN: Swing and a miss!


End file.
